


Red with a flash of Green

by EphemeralOblivion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EphemeralOblivion/pseuds/EphemeralOblivion
Summary: “I will see you soon, Harry,” her words were wistful, eyes not quite there, as if still speaking to a ghost.There was a beat of silence, and then a flash of light. Green.After that, Ginny Weasley was no more, only a broken shell of a girl from another lifetime remaining on the ground, an echo of a smile still clinging to her lips.Pity the living, indeed.Alas, Ginny had been wrong; she would not be seeing him again.For ghosts remained.





	Red with a flash of Green

‘Tonight. I am going to do it tonight,’ Harry thought, as he stared at the empty space beside him. He reached a hand out and touched the sheets. Cold. They always were.

A glance towards the window showed that it was dawn, the slowly creeping sun painting the sky in glorious shades of orange, pink, and red; a sliver of the persistent moon still clinging to the heavens. Harry hated it. It was the symbol of his failure.

With a sigh he rolled over, turning his back to the light, and submerged himself in darkness under the suffocating blanket.

  


* * *

  


His legs carried him aimlessly. The corridors around him were silent, aside from the distant echo of…something, drifting down the many hollow twists and turns. As Harry kept walking, the noise got progressively louder and so, despite his better judgement, Harry set his course towards the room he already knew the sound was coming from. The Throne Room.

As Harry creaked open the massive oak door, the shouting hit him full force. The room was filled with Death Eaters, who all looked to be edging something on, fists in the air, hissing, laughing, and jeering, as they all gathered around in a wide circle. In the centre of them stood Voldemort, looking pleased and even slightly amused. 

Voldemort hissed the _Cruciatious_ curse, and the woman started screaming again, even though her voice was so hoarse that she was barely even audible. She trashed around on the ground, spine arching so high she might as well had broken it. One of the Death Eaters blocking Harry’s full view leaned slightly to the left, and suddenly Harry saw.

For a second, his vision went black from the shock, and he stumbled against the door next to him. It barely made any noise but Voldemort’s attention was on him in a second, the sadistic smile playing on his lips melting away, only to leave behind a cold mask as he stared right at Harry.  
Flinching away from the look, Harry’s eyes found the girl on the ground once again. A woman now actually, but to Harry she would forever remain the girl with warm, brown eyes and flaming red hair, who could always make him laugh, even on the days when he couldn’t find the strength to smile.

The world fell away for a moment, as Harry stared, his heart beating a hole through his ribs, deafening his ears and tearing him apart. With bated breath, he observed the long, dark lashes, as they fluttered rapidly, causing hurricanes somewhere at the other side of the world, traced the curve of her jaw, and burned to memory the quick rise and fall of her chest. Sluggishly, she turned onto her side and curled into a ball, opening her eyes to find out why the entire hall had gone deathly quiet.

Their eyes met and for a second, Harry felt the little monster in his chest that Ginny had brought to life so many years ago, rise its head weakly.  
The world stood still as, one by one, memories started to play in his mind’s eye, and against his will, Harry was once again thrown into _everything_ Ginerva Weasley.

_Flashback –  
The first time he saw her, so eager and sprightly, tugging at her mother’s skirt to get a chance to see the famous Harry Potter._

_Flashback –  
Ginny and Harry sharing a look, both then turning away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn’t miss his shiny badge._

_Flashback –  
Hermione struggling to swallow her natural inclination to argue with Luna over the existence of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, as Ginny caught Harry’s eye and looked away quickly, grinning._

_Flashback –  
Ginny swinging her long, red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and prancing across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina._

_Flashback –  
Ginny running towards him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her_-

“…Har-ry.”

Hearing his name spoken by that voice brought him back to the present. Ginny was looking at him as if he was a ghost, her eyes haunted, and lips trembling.

That’s what he probably was to the world. Just a boy who had lived. Gone now. Buried six feet under by Voldemort himself.

Harry died a little bit more right then and there.

“…Harry,” she called again, her voice stronger than before, but somehow sounding even more broken, as a lone tear ran down her cheek, and into the inferno of her fiery red hair.

“Help…m-me,” she breathed in a small voice, but her eyes had turned sober, the fire that had still been burning in her gaze finally losing its light at the sight of him, as if he was Death itself coming to collect her.

It was then that Voldemort finally moved, walking slowly over to Ginny, stopping right next to her head. Not once did he look away from Harry as he did so, the heat of his red eyes burning a hole through the raven-haired boy’s head. Despite that, Harry still couldn’t tear his gaze away from the snare Ginny’s beautiful, tragic eyes had laid for him. It was like electricity – she was the source and Harry just couldn’t let go.

“Harry Potter is not going to help you.”

Hearing his name slip from the serpentine man’s lipless mouth, broke Harry from his trance-like state, and he turned his green eyes numbly back to the cruel red ones. Red, red red _red._

Voldemort had spoken the words so softly, as if soothing a child, but his eyes were as harsh as ever. There wasn’t even a challenge, a dare, or a questioning tilt to his voice, the words just forming into one cold, hard fact.

The worst part however, was that Harry didn’t make a single move. He merely stood in the doorway, hollow eyes staring at Voldemort, who had now turned away from him, as if losing interest, and directed his gaze back to the helpless woman before his feet.

“I suggest you walk away now, my pet. I know how much you hate red,” the last part was said mockingly, and with that Voldemort raised his wand, directing it right at the woman’s neck.

Harry’s eyes slid down the robe-clad arm, down the Elder wand between the spidery digits, down the empty air separating it from its soon-to-be victim, to the body lying on the cold floor. For a moment, Harry felt his heart ache through the haze that was surrounding him as he saw the peaceful look on Ginny’s face. Her lips curved into a smile – he had almost forgotten how beautiful it was – and with that, she opened her mouth one last time.

“I will see you soon, Harry,” her words were wistful, eyes not quite there, as if still speaking to a ghost.

There was a beat of silence, and then a flash of light. _Green._

After that, Ginny Weasley was no more, only a broken shell of a girl from another lifetime remaining on the ground, an echo of a smile still clinging to her lips.

Pity the living, indeed.

Alas, Ginny had been wrong; she would not be seeing him again.

For ghosts remained.

  


* * *

  


So much _screaming._

The roaring was so loud that Harry was sure he would go insane if it didn’t stop soon.

In a futile attempt to hold onto his waning sanity, Harry pressed his hands on his ears, as he rocked back and forth in the corner of an unused, dusty room he had no memory of getting into.

What was left of his heart was shredded, only a vile clump of ribbons remaining, enough to still pump blood through his veins, but too mangled for anything else to come through.

He had walked away. Turned around and walked away.

They were all gone now.

Harry laughed then, an uproarious laughter that ended as abruptly as it started.

Only he was left.

Slowly, he took his hands away from his ears, the volume not changing in the least. He knew that if he allowed himself to pay attention, he would hear one more voice that had joined the others.

“All gone all gone all goneallgoneallgone…” his voice was quiet, as if afraid of wakening the dead.

He laughed again at that thought, longer than before, and fisted his hair with two hands.

Maybe insanity wasn’t that bad of an option anymore.

Pulling out a small, beautifully crafted pocket knife he had found in a drawer about a year ago, and hidden under some loose floorboards in this very room, he fingered the shiny metal.

Harry Potter couldn’t kill himself. _Physically_ couldn’t. He knew that, because he had already tried thrice in various ways. And paid heavily for every instance by Voldemort’s hand.

There was some sort of a protection spell woven into his own magic that healed him in a second, and in some cases prevented the harm from even occurring, for example – jumping off a high place. It was an extremely advanced spell that Harry couldn’t even begin to assess, much less break apart.

But even though Harry might not be able to end his misery right then, that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it a bit easier.

He bared his arm and, with a steady hand, started to add more to the countless invisible markings on his hand, watching with detachment as the cuts healed as soon as he broke the skin apart. All that mattered, was that for a second it _hurt._ It hurt like it should, and Harry _revelled_ in it, for the screams quieted then, for that moment of pain.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Over and over, until his arm was red and tripping.

The screams would fall quiet eventually, they always did, leaving behind a deafening silence that made him feel so alone, that it was, in some ways, worse than the screams.

They would fade, satisfied for the night with the self-inflicted punishment.

Until next time.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry was in a bed. His bed. Voldemort’s bed.

The black silk was smooth under his fingertips, and caressed his naked skin. There were fingers running through his hair and a voice murmuring in a soothing tone, but Harry couldn’t understand the words, because of the broken sobs wracking his body.

'What was going on?'

The last thing he remembered was his shaky arm, slicing deeper and deeper, drawing so much blood that he should have been dead three times over. And, screaming, but he didn’t know if it had been their voices or his own. Looking down at his arm, which was now clutching the black robes, he was distantly aware that there was not a speck of red anymore.

Seeing the blood gone somehow made it worse.

His sobs quieted gradually, leaving him drained and empty, as he stayed nestled in the crook of the other man’s neck. The fingers in his hair didn’t cease their ministration, as they combed through his unruly hair, the incomprehensible muttering running dry with his tears.

‘Today,’ a distant voice reminded him.

Cold washed over him at the thought.

Slowly he slipped his other hand upwards, until it came into contact with the edge of the mattress. Sliding his hand beneath it, his hand touched the Basilisk fang he had acquired during a trip to Hogwarts, at the rare occasion Voldemort had decided to take Harry with him. Never one to waste an opportunity, he had stunned Avery – who had been left there to watch over him – with the man’s own wand, and visited the Chamber of Secrets.  
He gripped the fang in his fist and readied himself to strike.

“I’m sorry.”

Startled, Harry looked up at Voldemort, who was directing his gaze at the sealing portraying the night sky, a similar enchantment to the one in the Great Hall in Hogwarts.

“I’m not sorry I killed her, she was an absolute pest, wreaking havoc in my new reign, and rallying people up with ideas of democracy and equal rights. Worst of all, she was planning on destroying this base with you in here, even though she had no idea of the latter. So, I don’t regret killing her…but I am sorry it hurt you so bad,” the Dark lord’s voice was quiet and serene, and Harry had no doubt he meant every word.

There was a beat of silence as Harry gathered his thoughts.

“Is democracy really that terrible of an option?” he asked absently then, with a raw voice, in place of acknowledging his apology.  
“The worst,” came the firm affirmation.

They were silent for a moment after that, the only thing interrupting the stillness being Voldemort’s hand, which had now moved onto caressing the younger man’s arm.

“Do you want to kill me now?”

Harry gripped the fang tighter, and answered honestly.

“Yes.”

“Will you?” The man’s voice was curious, but distant, his body not tensing at the possibility, even though he knew very well what was hidden underneath the mattress.

For some reason, Harry didn’t answer right away. He thought about the question, repeating it in his mind. ‘Will I?’ Yes. _No_. Surely. Maybe.

With a deep sigh, he gave his answer in a soft voice.

“I’m tired.”

“Sleep then, my treasure, I will stay until you do.”

He knew that the meaning of what he had just said was not lost on Voldemort, and Harry understood the other’s response accordingly.

For whatever reason, Voldemort would not stop him from striking. Like every single night before.

Harry didn’t know how much time had passed. Voldemort had closed his eyes, and his breathing was steady, but the green-eyed man knew he wasn’t sleeping. For Voldemort couldn’t sleep after he had been reborn in his fourth year.

Harry observed the man lying next to him. The pale and smooth skin, which felt like living silk underneath his fingers; the slits the other man had in the place of a nose as they quivered slightly with every breath; and the mouth, which would, at first glance, seem lipless, but upon closer inspection would reveal a pearl-white pair of thin lips, that tasted heavenly–

In a quick move, Harry was straddling the Dark Lord. Sovereign of nearly all of Europe, the most powerful wizard of their time, who could demolish whole nations with one word, and who was perceived as an untouchable God to most of the world, was at his complete mercy, as he pressed the Basilisk fang over his beating heart.

Voldemort opened his eyes slowly, and looked calmly up at Harry. He didn’t say anything, but his burning red eyes drank in his every feature.  
Harry pressed the fang firmer against Voldemort’s chest, and leaned his head closer as he spoke in a low tone, the words coming out almost in an animalistic growl.

“Are you aware that I could end you within a blink of an eye, if I so decided right now?” The Dark Lord’s pupils dilated, black devouring burning red, and Harry found himself staring fiercely into an endless abyss – which stared back at him just as menacingly.

“Yes.” The answer was simple and frank, but even as he said so, Voldemort’s dark magic had started to intensify around the raven-haired man, coiling around his neck, chest, arms, and legs like massive snakes, coaxing his own magic out to entwine with it. And with a roar from somewhere deep within him, Harry let it out.

The feeling was intoxicating, as their magic started their elaborate dance around each other, making Harry breathe out harshly, shudders raking down his spine, and close his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

Coming to himself again after the momentary oblivion, that had been far too long for his liking, Harry cast his furious eyes down at Voldemort, who had managed to distract him so much during such a critical moment. Finding the mocking look he knew would be there Harry snarled in the others face and spat out.

“You have no idea how much I hate you,” one of Harry’s hands that was holding onto the fang, slipped around Voldemort’s neck then, as if his body couldn’t decide whether he wanted to rip out his heart or strangle him to death.

Harry breathed in Voldemort’s scent, the tantalizing aroma of rain and earth and lightning and blood and and destruction and safety, that made his head spin and eyes involuntarily close again as he pressed himself closer, until that smell was his whole world.

Increasing the force of his hold around his worst enemy’s neck, to a point where Harry was sure there would be bruises on the delicate skin the next day, he made sure he had Voldemort’s full attention when he spoke the next words in a harsh whisper.

“I would tear you to _pieces_ right here and now, and watch you bleed for days before granting you death–” the dark eyes were enraptured, as they gazed into his emerald ones, burning with such a torrid fire that they put Ginny’s blazing locks to shame.

“–if only I didn’t love you so goddamn much,” Ignoring the absolute shock, disbelief, and awe on the other man’s face, Harry captured Voldemort’s lips with his own. He kissed him with a punishing force, demanding access into that sweet mouth, and, after he had been granted, taking everything the Dark Lord had to offer with merciless force.

The fang was thrown off the bed, after which Voldemort flipped them around, so he was now on top of Harry. The raven-haired boy was having none of that this night, however, and, with his superior strength, reversed to their previous position.

Voldemort hissed obscenities at him for once again being trapped under the younger man’s firmer build, but Harry paid it no attention, as he slipped his hand underneath the black robes, and started to map out every little curve with his fingers, turning the older man’s raving into breathless gasps and moans. His lips soon followed, and he made sure to bite as much of that beautiful skin as he could, feeling Voldemort’s nails rake across his back, no doubt leaving red lines in their wake.

At some point, the bothersome robe must have finally come off, because now their skin was touching from head to toe, their erections brushing against each other with every move.

Spitting into his hand, Harry hurriedly pressed two fingers inside his lover, who hissed at the sudden invasion but obliged by wrapping his long legs around Harry’s hips.

After deeming Voldemort ready, Harry kissed him again, this time softer than before, but no less passionately, and trust into him with one hard shove. Glorious heat enveloped him, and seeing the Dark Lord arch his back into the mattress and gasp his name, as long fingers tangled in his black hair, brought an involuntary moan from Harry’s lips.

Watching the deliciously exposed body rock and sway and bend to his every whim like a mighty ship caught in an indomitable storm, made something savage awaken inside Harry’s chest, until only one coherent thought existed inside his head, and resounded in his body with every heartbeat.

_Mine._

* * *

  


Harry woke gradually, an unusual heaviness clinging to his eyelashes as his senses slowly returned to him. When he finally did manage to crack open his eyes, he noted absently that the room was filled with an orange light.

Dawn.

The thought brought Harry into a state of wakefulness in a moment.

'Another failure then?'

Before Harry could bring the covers over his head to drown himself in misery, he became aware of a hand coiled around his chest. At once the memories of the last day and night flashed before Harry’s eyes, making his heart ache when he remembered Ginny, and then skip a beat when he remembered what came after.

Harry was wrapped in the Dark Lord’s arms, held closely against his chest, and cocooned in warmth.

Harry tried to steady his breath and calm his heart down, as he turned around to face Voldemort.

The red eyes opened when Harry was finally facing him, and clashed with his green ones, just like their spells used to on the battlefield, only now, Harry was wielding green and Voldemort red. 

Or maybe it was the right way around.

Voldemort had killed a part of him, but in the end, Harry had still managed to disarm the Dark Lord. Even though it had nothing to do with spells.  
In its own twisted way, the prophecy had come to pass. 

“We are going to live for a long time,” Voldemort began in a serious tone.

“I know,” Harry answered softly.

“I will set the world aflame, and from its ashes, a new area will arise.”

Harry had no doubt Voldemort could burn the world to the ground.

“I know.”

“I will _reign._ ”

Harry watched Voldmort’s face, considering this for a second. Destroying was one thing, but nurturing and maintaining something so fragile as a new dynasty was quite another. He thought about the Dark Lord’s outstanding intelligence, his unparalleled power, the resources he had obtained after every conquest, and the immense following he had managed to gather in the past years.

It was clear that for some reason, the Dark Lord had improved much after the Second Wizarding War was over and he had Harry in his grasp. He was still very much against muggles, and was making plans on riddling the world of them subtly, but his views on muggleborns had changed drastically, as they were now considered crucial for maintaining the Wizarding World’s population. They were still third class citizens after purebloods and halfbloods, but they were now accepted into the society.

Voldemort had even created himself a new look for when he needed to make public appearances, taking on the skin of one Tom Marvolo Riddle once again. The masses gushed about his charisma and beauty, making it so much easier for the Dark Lord to guide them as he saw fit.  
“I know,” Harry said finally, confirming Voldemort’s claims.

They stayed silent for a moment then, both caught in the vision of the impending future looming over the horizon, like the rising sun behind their window.

“I want you to be there, beside me, when I conquer the world,” the Dark Lord said this casually as if contemplating the possibility of rain tomorrow, but his eyes betrayed him as they bore into Harry’s with such intensity, that the raven-haired boy was sure the other saw more than just his green eyes.

“And if I say no?” Harry asked stubbornly.

“Will you?”

Harry growled slightly, hearing that, an immediate answer jumping to the forefront of his mind. Yes! _No_. Surely…Maybe.

Instead of answering, Harry turned his back to Voldemort, the rising sun, and the world in general. He pulled the dark blanket over his head, and closed his eyes tightly.

_‘Tonight.’_

**Author's Note:**

> This has sat on my computer for a long time. Let me know what you think.


End file.
